


a withered rose's thorn

by smtowndream



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Flowers, Grim Reapers, M/M, yuta centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-06-29 15:15:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19832881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smtowndream/pseuds/smtowndream
Summary: Yuta collects all types of customers like the precious ivory petals of his favorite daisies. He became familiar with the buyer varieties: the naïve boyfriends, who stumble and stammer as they struggle to pick out flowers for their significant others, parents rushing to purchase the prettiest bouquet for their daughter’s graduation or their son’s dance recital. Even the most casual buyers, who waltz in occasionally to pluck asinglered rose.With his shop teetering on the brink of death more times than Yuta would like to admit, it seems like things were finally looking up.





	a withered rose's thorn

**Author's Note:**

> feeling very insecure about this work, honestly. i hope reading this does not end up to be in vain for anyone, and i hope i did some justice to the prompter who requested this!! i had a very good time writing this, and i am so happy to have been able to take part of this year's enrara. 
> 
> every flower mentioned, even if not explained why in the fic, is significant. they all have particular meanings. the flowers were not picked for no reason. 
> 
> please enjoy! :)

_Life is beautiful._

Or at least that is what comes to Nakamoto Yuta’s mind as he observes a dazzling stream of the morning’s inaugural light. It floods through the shop window, wrapping every inch within the room’s walls in its’ brilliant glory. The luminescence was nothing short of scintillating, each ray dancing and swinging while leaving a trail of faint glimmer over Yuta’s variety of flowers in its wake.

Yuta is aware that the dawn’s glimmering sunlight signified that he got to live through another sunrise morning. The light brought a new day, filled with a sense of renewal that Yuta had always found difficult to shake off. Yuta’s florist shop was finally taking off and he had been able to recruit a dedicated group of workers to accompany him in his endeavors while gradually cataloging a stable bunch of orderers.

Yuta collects all types of customers like the precious ivory petals of his favorite daisies. He became familiar with the buyer varieties: the naïve boyfriends, who stumble and stammer as they struggle to pick out flowers for their significant others, parents rushing to purchase the prettiest bouquet for their daughter’s graduation, or their son’s dance recital. Even the most casual buyers, who waltz in occasionally to pluck a _single_ red rose. 

With his shop teetering on the brink of death more times than Yuta would like to admit, it seems like things were finally looking up.

* * *

“Good morning, boss! What are you up to?”

Yuta is so frazzled by his admiration of the dazzling light to realize that Kim Jungwoo, one of his employees, had pushed through the entrance door. Jungwoo was a few minutes late for his shift, but as the sweet aroma of syruped coffee and a deliciously crisp pastry came into range, Yuta could feel any authoritarian phrase that he had thought of to use to reprimand Jungwoo drift out the window. He was so easily bribed out of giving a scolding, and he was so lenient with both Jungwoo and Donghyuck, the workers who helped out the most frequently. How could he berate his employees when they constantly bring him his favorite matcha latte?

Yuta’s a boss, but he isn’t a _monster_.

“Hi, Jungwoo,” waves Yuta, sorely rubbing his eyes as he turns his back to the sun. The light was almost blinding now, and Yuta is shuffling towards the front counter with Jungwoo following lazily behind. “You’re a little late, I see?”

Jungwoo seems to have already thought of a counter for this, flashing Yuta an angelic smile before setting the latte down. “Maybe I was a little bit late but it was only because I was picking up a piping hot matcha latte with skim milk for the best and most handsome boss in the entire world,” He slides the cup down. “Otherwise known as the charming flower boy of Seoul, Nakamoto Yuta!”

Yuta has a hard time fighting back the smile that tugs at his lips, and he finds himself reaching for the latte. “The latte isn’t piping hot.” He remarks playfully, taking a gracious sip before thanking Jungwoo. “Have you heard from Jaemin? He was supposed to be here minutes ago, and I haven’t heard from him at all—”

It must have been the finest form of poetic justice that Na Jaemin pushes past the florist’s French double doors. His denim jacket was shrugged halfway down his shoulders, and his eyes were as wide as porcelain saucers as he stumbled in. The thick, fragrant liquid in his coffee cup swishes like a torrent with his movements, and he sets it down onto the counter before a word slips past his mouth.

“Okay, so I’m late, but only because the barista at the coffee shop was taking forever to get my order down, and there was this gigantic line! It was that new barista I’ve kind of been flirting with! They’re still kind of clueless to the orders, so I wonder just how they got this job..—”

“—Doesn’t surprise me that you’re late because of _coffee_.”

As far as he had employed Jaemin, the boy had always been a fan, if not more so, of the caffeinated drink both he and Jungwoo lived off of. Yuta always chalked it down to how Jaemin was so full of unalloyed life that the coffee was only an addition energizer.

“If there’s a new barista, how’s the coffee?”

“I haven’t had the chance to try it yet! I kind of rushed here,” admits Jaemin meagerly. “But, even if it’s terrible, that’s fine,” This was a sentence that Nakamoto Yuta was sure he would never hear from Na Jaemin’s lips, and both he and Jungwoo glanced at each other in absolute suspicion. “Because the barista is still adorable. They had these puppy kind of eyes, and you can tell they were a little overwhelmed but just kept smiling..” He sighs dreamily. “I might just be in _L-O-V-E_..”

“If you’re in love, make sure to buy them a bouquet,” suggests Yuta with a smile, throwing a long-stemmed rose somewhere in Jaemin’s direction. “Nothing says ‘I might just be in love with you’ more than a beautiful bouquet of fresh picked flowers.”

“Says the florist.” laughs Jaemin, glaring at Yuta comically.

“You work at a flower shop!”

“Touché, Yuta, touché,” Jaemin grins, taking the lid off of his drink to blow lightly and cool it down. “Anyway, much as I love talking with you guys, I rushed out of the coffee shop to get here on time and did not stop to get the cute barista’s number. Don’t make me regret it. So can we get started on whatever work we have today?”

Yuta could never underestimate Jaemin’s vigor for his work, that was for sure. The younger boy moves to tie on his worker’s apron, and Yuta too feels that it is time to begin the day’s duties. With one lingering sip from his cup, the warmth from the matcha latte permeates through him in a way that lends Yuta the energy he needed to kickstart himself.

There were a few things that needed to be done.

He, along with Jaemin, would be working a wedding over the weekend. With the event in only three days, Yuta wanted to secure the bouquet arrangement picked by the couple, and prepare a faux one. Jaemin would probably help with that, Yuta notes, tying his own apron around his waist. His eyes graze over the calendar he’d haphazardly hung up at the start of the year, And today was Wednesday, so Johnny Seo would no doubt come in a little later to pick up a few flowers to take out.

He solely bought crimson tulips. It was something Yuta had noticed ever since the man had idly wandered into his florist shop months ago. His attention somehow always gravitated to the brilliant colors of the bulbs that were always tucked in the corner of the store, and never wavered from his interest. He’d aimlessly amble in loops, seemingly in a distracted awe due to the blossomed perennials that surrounded him. No matter what the season, nor if the azaleas were a distinctly alluring shade of pink or if the magnolias seemed regal with the spotlessness of their innocent white petals, Johnny always circled back to the refined crimson tulips. If Yuta did not have them—which was not often, but he was human and he did sometimes tend to let the thought of specifically ordering crimson tulips slip his mind—Johnny would humbly bow his head and vow to return next week. He never pried into the man’s business, but as Johnny turned his back towards Yuta and began to retire towards the shop’s exit, he’d always wished he’d be able to understand just why crimson tulips were just so important to Johnny Seo—the man with the melancholy look in his eyes.

Lucky for Johnny though, Yuta did have a fresh supply of crimson tulips. Hopefully, Yuta would be able to brighten the man’s day by just a fragment—he’d be satisfied if he could bring the slightest smile to Johnny’s face, or relieve the buried gloom in his eyes for even a second. Johnny and his frequent visits in mind, Yuta excuses himself from the front counter to go into the back to retrieve the flowers.

He figures that he would prepare the bouquet beforehand, just so that when Johnny arrived later that day, there would be none of his awkward scuffling around the shop only to inevitably ask for the brightly colored tulips.

* * *

Johnny came in later that day, just as Yuta had anticipated.

His visit came at a more unexpected time than usual, and Yuta’s towering customer strolled into the shop at just about 4:30 PM. Yuta could unfortunately agree that the longer the sun was suspended in the dazzling blue sky, the more boring being a florist was. He realizes this as he leans against the front counter, his eyes tracing over the freshly bloomed petals of his hydrangeas. The muted hue of the lavender plants was particularly appealing to Yuta, and he found himself staring at them. Even as a customer strolled in was Yuta slightly distracted, his focus so honed in on the cluster of plants. They were Yuta’s lavender constellations, the petals woven together to form these distinct star shaped blooms.

“What do those stand for?”

It was Johnny Seo, Yuta’s habitual Wednesday customer. The tall, willowy man’s aura seems more peaceful than usual. The somber quality that Johnny usually held in his eyes was not currently present, and his lips were curled into the slightest bit of an amused smile ( _It seems more befitting to him, as Yuta often speculated that a blinding illumination had to have lit Johnny’s eyes at one point_ ). Recognizing this, Yuta straightens his posture almost immediately, shaking off the absent-minded look that he knew must have been on his face.

“The hydrangeas? Well, it depends on the color. Pink means love, blue is forgiveness or frigidity, white is purity, and purple symbolize a deep desire to want to understand and know someone.” Yuta rattles the meanings off his head, reciting whatever immediately came to memory. “There’s more, I’m sure, those are just what come to mind! We only have purple hydrangeas in stock today. Anyway, I have your favorite flowers prepared for you today, actually.” Yuta turns back to retrieve the rouge tulips, which were already encased tightly in the specialty polka dot kraft paper the florist had broken out specifically for this order.

“Yuta, you’re the best florist in all of Seoul. Really.” swears Johnny as he humbly accepts the bouquet that Yuta was holding out to him. He clutches the bundle of flowers close to his chest, seemingly revelling in the subtle scent of the fresh tulips.

Yuta is _blushing_. “What can I say? I try.”

Johnny assures him that Yuta is doing a fabulous job running the shop, and the man places his bouquet down only to fetch his wallet from the endless pockets of his chic brown trench coat. He’s quiet, pensive for a few beats as he takes out his wallet. He must have allotted for this exact purchase, because he seems to retract the necessary bills quite easily. However, his gaze lingers over a panel in the accessory. Yuta cannot see what exactly Johnny was staring at so fondly that all emotion in the honey sea of his eyes aside from infatuation melted away. If Yuta had to guess though, he’d bet it was a picture. Johnny breaks out of his reverie by blinking, embarrassingly sliding the bills over to Yuta with his gaze fixed on the counter. “Speaking of, though, I was wondering something..” Johnny swallows, the major shift in his mood apparent to Yuta even with the minimal light in the room. The look on Johnny’s face set as quickly as the sun had bowed from the sky. “If I paid you a large amount of money beforehand, do you think you could send a bouquet of these every week to an address that I leave with you?”

It was not an _odd_ request.

Yuta has had paying customers leave a tab open specifically for routine flower deliveries. However from the times this has happened, there were two surefire circumstances that Yuta had learned are usually the stems for weekly pre-planned flower deliveries: it was either a doting significant other trying to be sweet to their lover, or a person was soon going to be unable to deliver the flowers themselves but still wanted for the recipient to have the reminder of their love.

“Of course,” Yuta hesitantly picks a pen from a nearby jar, sliding the writing utensil along with an accompanying notepad over to Johnny. He starts to write and from Yuta’s view the unintelligible scribbles begin to form connected swoops, spelling out a word—rather, a _name_. “Ten?”

While nodding, Johnny even smiles at the mention of the name. The action alone sets Yuta off that this must be someone Johnny cares about deeply. With only this bare minimum information, the florist could intelligently estimate that this Ten must be the person in the photograph tucked neatly into Johnny’s wallet. A boyfriend, perhaps? Yuta starts to ask, but bites his tongue—he shouldn’t jump to such conclusions, since it could always be a profound platonic relationship. He should know since he had been best friends with Taeyong for ages now, and oftentimes others who were not well acquainted with the pair assumed that they were a couple. The two recoiled at the idea, however could see how the frequent misconception was made; they just had an abyssal type of bond, one that was as expansive as the eye could see. Friendships were like that sometimes, meaningful in a way that romantic relationships could not deliver.

The look in Johnny’s eyes, though, was admittedly different. He appears lovestruck, an almost dreamy trance setting over him at the mention of this exotic Ten.

“Your boyfriend?”

A heartbeat.

“Yeah,” says Johnny. “He’s one of the people I care for the most in this world. And I just don’t know how much longer I’ll be here for. I just want him to know that no matter where I am, I’m always thinking of him. Always.”

“Are you going somewhere soon?” Yuta’s prod is quiet as he accepts the pen and paper back.

Johnny loses focus on Yuta, staring out into the window just behind the florist. Yuta observes him watching the stoplight flicker from a shining green, to one just about the color of the tulips he cradled in his grasp, and then to an almost melancholy yellow; then the cycle repeats. The two can hear the melodiously happy laughter float into the shop, accompanied by the scuffling of heels and sneakers against the concrete as Seoul’s residents skip and slide precariously as they carouse across the streets.

“I don’t know.”

The stop light turns red.

“I just do not think that I won’t be here in a few months. And I’ll be damned if I leave here without letting him know that he’s the most important person to have ever walked into my life.”

Johnny leaves after that, promising to pay Yuta for the ample amount of flowers starting from his next visit on.

Yuta’s mood following Johnny’s stop in had decreased dismally. Johnny’s vague words beckoned for so much context, and Yuta could only conjure up so many scenarios as he wrapped blush camelias or azure gentianas into bouquets for the trail of customers that teetered in afterwards. It was late by this point anyway, and Yuta granted Jungwoo and Jaemin to leave their shifts an hour or so early. The two protested, but Yuta asserted that he’d be able to handle the rest of the time by himself.

He closed shop at 6:00, so if anyone came from the time Jungwoo and Jaemin left he was sure he’d be able to manage it.

Yuta’s predictions were right though, and the last thirty minutes of work was particularly slow. A person or two popped their heads through the door, inquiring for Yuta’s hours and stock on certain plants, but that was all. He ended up not accomplishing much, solely checking inventory and watering whenever he could.

When the time on his phone flashed irritatingly that the time was 6:00, Yuta knew it was time to close. He did not have much to put away, so as he slipped his phone into his jacket pocket and headed to flicker off the lights, he was shocked to catch the cryptic figure that stood still by the entrance of the shop. Yuta was so taken aback by the sight that he froze and he surrendered to simply staring at the man—absorbed, yet fearful in the same instance.

He could not have been tall, maybe just about Yuta’s height or so, and was clothed in the color of the night. His features were covered by a hat, causing Yuta to be unable to capture any details of the man’s face. He takes slow steps towards the door, yet the figure is unwavering. Scared, he glances down for the slightest moment, thinking it’d be the best idea to grab his phone just in case something was wrong.

The man is gone by the time Yuta looks up.

* * *

“It was _so_ weird, Yong.”

Yuta prods out of the bathroom, drying his face with a plush towel. He was considering the situation hours later, and the moments of pure confusion and slight fear that he’d felt ran through his mind incessantly. Not wanting to keep the odd occurrence to himself, he voices it to his roommate just before the two fall asleep.

Lee Taeyong is sprawled lazily across the couch as he listened to Yuta intently. Taeyong’s own hair was wrapped up and covered by an expansive towel, and he appeared to be the epicenter of luxury as he sipped his bottled apple juice through a straw. “That _is_ kind of weird if I’m being honest? Who just stands in front of somebody’s door like that?”

Yuta sighs exasperatedly, gesturing in agreement by flapping his arms around widely. He flops down besides his best friend. “You think I should do anything? Or just.. let it be? I guess? I’m not really sure what I should do.”

“Well,” There’s a lengthened pause after the drawn out word, a temporary hiatus on the conversation as a quiet rises between the two. Taeyong’s sharp eyes glaze over the melodramatic mess that flickered lowly on the TV screen. Neither of them had given much attention to the drama they’d put on, too caught up with discussing the situation at hand. Now, Yuta watches, disinterested as he waits for Taeyong. It’s a few seconds later when there is finally a response—whether or not the pause was due to his best friend being unsure what to say or simply because he wanted to take the time to give a proper response, Yuta would never know. “I’m not really sure what you do when things like this happen, honestly,” _Ah_. “If anything, I can start coming around to stay with you when you begin to close up if Jaemin and Jungwoo aren’t there? I’ll start leaving class a few minutes early, I can get there on time if I walk a little faster. Just so you’re not alone, you know?”

The thought is nice, initially. Yuta did not always like to keep his workers there until closing unless there was an absolute necessity to, and tried to allow them to leave early as often as he could. However with the thought of a menacing figure being bold enough to announce their presence by hovering threateningly by the door to the shop, Yuta wanted to be selfish. He wanted to keep Jungwoo and Jaemin there with him until he inevitably flickered off the lights and shut the doors, or have Taeyong dash out of class to patrol the grounds and escort Yuta home.

He wouldn’t do that, though.

He would never put his friends in a situation of them getting hurt, even if the chances were extremely slim. He’d save his friends over himself in a heartbeat, there was no debating at all there.

“No, Yong. It’s fine, I’ll take it seriously if it happens again. There’s no point in treating this like the kiss of death or something. For all I know, this man might just really want a bouquet of flowers but was too scared to come in,” And as the words pass Yuta’s lips, he hopes he would not come to regret them. He had seen the late night crime show reruns, where the potential victim brushed off situations such as these to feed in to their own self-reliant attitude. “What are the chances of this happening again, anyway?”

Taeyong is observing him now, with an odd gleam in his eyes that Yuta could not quite distinguish. It is unsettling to see the bewildered glint in his best friend’s eyes and not be able to decipher it. Suddenly, a soft look of sympathy filled Taeyong’s eyes, and the elder’s shoulders deflated substantially. Taeyong glances away towards his phone. “Just be careful, alright? Call me on the days you’re going to let the workers leave early, we can talk as you get your car. Could you at least do that for me?”

Taeyong glares at him when he takes a second too long to answer, so Yuta agrees hurriedly. He rolls his eyes as he vows to spare a phone call during closing. Taeyong’s overly worried demeanor sends unwarranted chills down Yuta’s spine, and satiates the need he desperately had earlier to discuss the odd occurrence. Admittedly, seeing the uneasiness and concern in Taeyong’s eyes and words made Yuta feel unnecessarily apprehensive. Even after he’d assured himself that this was not something to loan his attention to the situation too much, the feelings bubble in the pit of his stomach.

“Enough of this,” Yuta dismisses the subject without a moment’s hesitation, leaning forward to grab the remote off the coffee table. “You’re making me anxious with those big eyes of yours. I won’t die, Yong,” At the mention of death, Taeyong shifts uneasily beside Yuta. “And even if I did, I liked to think I probably lived a pretty good life up until my tragic death,” He’s _joking_. “Now let’s watch this drama, because I might actually die if we don’t catch up. Jungwoo is unrelenting with saying things that could be considered spoilers, and I might just have to fire him if he ruins the ending for me.”

After indulging himself in the sensationalized world of the dramas, Yuta manages to not spare another thought regarding the odd incident.

Little did Yuta know though that the thought of losing his best friend would keep Taeyong up at night.

* * *

“You need to be more careful,” He chides, clutching the cell phone close. It resides in the crook between his ear and shoulder, and the whispers that pass are esoteric. “You can’t just show up unannounced like that, you’ll blow your cover and then where will we be?” A pause, some rustling. “It’ll hurt him more that way.. Just do this in the most efficient and painless way possible. It’ll be better for you and for him.“

* * *

“Hyung, a fresh batch of flowers are outside! Jungwoo and I can bring them in, but you need to sign for them!” Jaemin’s petite head peeked into his office to notify him of the inventory’s arrival. It was not much of an interruption, as Yuta had not been doing anything especially difficult nor important. He’d only been jogging down some future affairs that the shop had been called to produce flowers for in advance. There were four weddings, two retirement parties, and a funeral. Something about the arrangements of events was intriguing to Yuta. One is a blossoming of love and the commencement of a beginning; another was a milestone, the winding down of a long stretch of work; while the last was truly the end.

To avoid the chill that forced its way down Yuta’s spine, he offers Jaemin a slightly forced smile and pushes his body away from the desk. He leaves his homey, minuscule office to be surrounded by the verdant greenery that was the main floor. Jungwoo was avidly discussing the different meanings of colored roses with a middle aged woman to his left while Jaemin excused himself from Yuta’s side to answer the shop’s ringing phone to his right.

Yuta has no trouble spotting the vivid green truck that was outside, haphazardly parked in a way that just blocked the shop’s entrance. He hurries outside to face the delivery man who leaned lazily against the truck’s door, the image of irritation as he chewed obnoxiously on a strip of apple gum. “Have I made you wait long? I’m so sorry!” As the owner signs for the shipment, the worker rambles about his frazzled delivery schedule. Yuta hates to admit it, but he is not paying much attention to the irregular words that spilled from the delivery man’s lips. He hands the clipboard into the man’s awaiting hands, offering a halfhearted smile with an awkward chuckle to accompany it. He is swiftly handed boxes to place inside, and Yuta calls over Jaemin to assist him.

After a few minutes they are just about finished with transporting the fresh flowers inside. There are only about three or so boxes left so Yuta takes the incentive to send off the delivery man with many thanks. He tells a reluctant Jaemin to head inside, even though the younger boy almost fights to help him with the last few boxes.

With the last boxes unloaded onto the curb, the truck moves onto the pavement and careens down the boulevard. Yuta bends down to pick up whatever was left but as he holds the items close to his chest, something—or someone, rather—captures his attention.

Standing directly across the street was a lithe body, clothed entirely in dark garb awaits patiently. His unwavering gaze is fixated on Yuta, and the florist shudders heavily at the chill that high tails down his spine. There is no doubt in Yuta’s man that this is the mysterious man who had given him quite the shock a few weeks ago. Even after Yuta had so carelessly brushed the situation off, painting it as a misunderstanding that would only strike once, here the man was.

Yuta, unsure of what to do, turns to scramble back into the florist shop. He paces in with his hands entangled in a frenzy, anxiously eyeing both his busy employees. Jungwoo was finishing arranging a small bouquet, while Jaemin was manually writing an order. As soon as the two finished their respective tasks and the customers clear, Yuta speaks. “Hey, how about you two go grab lunch, or something?”

Jaemin glances towards the clock that was placed neatly on the wall, squinting to identify the time printed by the tiny numbers. “Well, it is 1:45.. I didn’t think to pack lunch today,” He plucks his lightweight windbreaker from the chair near his desk. He shrugs it on and addresses the two. “If it’s okay, I’m going to grab lunch first. We can either go in turns, or I can get you both something while I’m out?”

Jungwoo seems ready to make a decision, however Yuta hastily cuts him off. “You two can go together! It’s not fair to let Jaemin carry all the food back by himself.”

Jaemin seems suspicious, as does Jungwoo. However, the latter watches in silence while the younger argues. “It’s also not fair to leave you alone here while we go get lunch. What if a surge of customers come in? I know you’re more than capable of doing your job but it isn’t fair to leave you to do all the work.”

“Jaemin—”

“—Yuta, I’ll be _right_ back! I swear won’t even take too long to get us all something yummy—”

“—Jaemin,” And Yuta is using his stern voice, the tone he only uses with him selectively. Jaemin had not been some random recruit who’d stumbled into his shop, Yuta’s known him from when the boy was barely in high school. When he was younger, Jaemin often considered the boys who Yuta had hung around with when he transferred into school in Korea role-models. Since the two go way back, Jaemin was more a friend to him than an employee—especially when the boy did any task he asked with such a bright smile—and Yuta liked to treat him as such. Until now, where he uses the slight power he has over him. “I’ll be fine, please just go get lunch. And Jungwoo,” Yuta sighs, exasperatedly. “Go with him.”

Rather subdued today, Jungwoo does not put up a fight and follows a rather dazed Jaemin out the door. Jungwoo pats Yuta sympathetically on the back—fighting, even minimally, with Jaemin was draining for Yuta—and whispers that he will bring back a little something for him. The owner whispers a ‘thank you’ gratefully in reply before the two shuttle out, leaving the florist in utter silence. A few heartbeats later when Yuta was absolutely positive the coast was clear, he hurried to the shop’s window to peer outside.

To his dismay, he no longer was able to catch sight of the mysteriously dressed figure. Yuta sighs in irritation as turns his back and stomps back to his desk. He went through all this trouble to expel his employees for the hour, solely for the possibility of the cryptic man gathering enough courage to pay him a physical visit. Yuta release a bitter laugh, reaching for his phone to send a derisive text regarding the situation to Taeyong. Complaining to his best friend somehow was always a way to lift his spirits.

Until Yuta’s ears picked up on the bell-like noise produced by the door being pushed ajar. He wrenches himself to face the entrance, half expecting a customer, and finds his body trembling in astoundment. There, in the flesh, stood the man who noticeably had been lingering around Yuta’s shop in all hours of the day. While this was only the second time Yuta has officially seen this man, he could recount a handful of instances from the last few weeks where the circumstances seemed off: a silhouette outside the entrance door flashed by too quickly, or he’d faintly see a man teetering around the telephone pole across the street.

“Hello.” greets the man, so incredibly casually that it causes Yuta to take a fraction of a section to reconsider the current condition. Is this really the same stranger who’d been observing him from afar, fostering a minor dose of dread to flow throughout his body? The informality of it all was astounding to Yuta.

“Hello,” replies an oh-so-hesitant Yuta, keeping an observant eye over the man’s frame as he indecisively wavers through the set up. “Can I help you with anything?”

The unfamiliar man’s head tilts up in Yuta’s direction—however with the flaccid hat that hangs just over his eyes, the direct eye contact they could have made is blocked by the material. This interaction is useless to Yuta, as it only makes his skin prickle with distress. He is surprised when the stranger falters by the counter where Yuta patiently awaits him. His hands reach for his hat, and his nimble fingers slip it off. Now the man seems a bit less suspicious, with his face now completely visible.

Yuta’s lips part subconsciously at the sight. Taeyong would scold him if he knew that the stranger’s visuals were swaying Yuta, however he could not deny that this man was incredibly attractive. He was breathtaking in every meaning of the word, from the caramel pools of his eyes that are married in with dark cocoa flecks, to his luscious ebony hair. Admittedly, his flawless characteristics are enough to stun Yuta momentarily. “C-Can I help you?” The stammering is embarrassing, and to avoid his cheeks flooding with a crimson mirth, he divagates his attention towards a notepad.

“Actually, yes. I’m here for..” There is a lengthy pause, as his eyes dawdle around the store. It is almost seemed that was not sure exactly what Yuta sold, despite the blatant fact that the two were surrounded by flowers of different varieties. The situation was comical, really.

“..Flowers?” Yuta aids the stranger, watching the man’s head bobble vivaciously at his words.

“Yes! Precisely, _flowers_. I need an arrangement.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place,” He flashes one of his signature smiles, his lithe fingers gripping a pen as he retrieves the notepad his eyes had been ambling over minutes ago. “Who are they for?”

“..Myself?”

That was an answer Yuta did not get often, and he excuses himself as a confused laugh slips past his lips. It was rare that a customer came in to purchase for themselves, rather it was more common to buy a bouquet for family or a significant other. However, Yuta could not say he hasn’t had his fair share of well-to-do wives waltz in to drop mindless amounts of money on elaborate arrangements. They enjoyed sprucing up their homes, and Yuta was more than happy to aid them in finding the perfect flowers to do so. However, this did not seem like a man whose main problems were drowning in money and wondering what flower would harmonize with the colors of their house’s walls.

“Did you get a promotion or something of the sort? Or was it just a _good_ week?”

“The opposite, really. The week took a turn for the worse, I figured maybe tending to something living would heal my soul a little better,” The man explains more or less, yet the sentences made a chill crawl up Yuta’s skin. Almost as if the words had an alternate more dismal meaning that Yuta could not catch on to. He forces the thought back, though. “So, just a simple bouquet, nothing crazy. I can’t let something else die.” The man can see the confusion portrayed in Yuta’s eyes, and he scrambles to clarify himself. “Somebody gave me a bouquet of roses for my promotion a few months ago, and I forgot to water them and they died. My fault, really. I just want to be able to keep the flowers alive this time.”

“Ah.. Okay.” Yuta settles for a chuckle, nodding as if he truly understood the situation. Honestly, he did not, but he did piece enough together to feel an overwhelming sense of pity for this man. This astoundingly beautiful being staggers around in all black garb, and was unable to have the ability to keep flowers alive nor speak in sentences that did not have awkward intonations. Maybe it was the devastating need to give him some sort of amnesty, or the verifiable truth that Yuta was captivated by this incredibly stiff man, but he decides to do something somewhat out of character. “You know what? I’ll make you an arrangement for free. Consider it my treat.”

The man’s eyes widen, and he holds his hands out in protest. “No, you don’t have to—”

“—I insist. Really, please let me.” Yuta does not give him much choice, his lithe hands working faster gathering flowers than the customer could process his thoughts. In the concentration of picking the perfect fit for the bouquet, Yuta unknowingly allows the conversation to sag. His eyes dazzle as his fingers hover over brightly hued tulips and softly bundled bunches of baby’s breath. When given the liberty to make a bouquet, Yuta never was one to pick flowers solely based off the color or type. He chose based on the meaning; based on what the shade of those flowers represented.

This time he decides on something light and simple, nothing too haughty. He’d massed a collection of white heather, yellow roses, and thistle and wrapped them all together in a new waxy polka dotted kraft paper. The finishing touch, he thinks personally, is the silky white ribbon that laced around the bouquet. “White heather is a symbol for good luck, it indicates that wishes will come true,” Yuta begins, handing the bouquet over to the hesitating grasp of the customer across the counter. “Thistle represents strength and determination, which may be what you need after a long and hard week. Lastly, yellow roses represent warm feelings of optimism and cheerfulness. I hope that through these, you gain some courage and happiness!”

The customer’s gaze flickers indecisively from the flowers, to Yuta, then back. As he finally settles his attention upon the bouquet, there is a softness in his eyes as he stares at the gift with a sort of profound appreciation. He looks up, after a while. “You didn’t have to do this..”

“I wanted to, though. Really,” Yuta says. “I mean it.”

“I can’t help but feel like I owe you something for this.”

Yuta ponders upon all the wishes he could conjure, his eyes glittering with the variety of options. However, something tugs him back to reality. “You don’t owe me anything. Except,” Yuta humbly offers the man a business card. “Your business in the future. If you ever need another bouquet, the number is on there. I’d be pleased to make you more arrangements, if you ever feel the need to buy more.”

The customer accepts it, initially staring at the piece of glossed paper as if it were a foreign object. He soon slips it into his pocket, and his hand lingered, as if he has something to give to Yuta in return. His lips part, ready to make a statement in reply until a sound interrupts both of their trains of thought.

The bell that hovered just above the door chimes in announcement, and Yuta glanced towards the entrance. He hears familiar footsteps, and a friendly smile graced his features as he realizes just who the figure was. “Johnny! You’re just on time, actually. I have your flowers, just let me finish up here!” He acknowledges Johnny first, before glancing back at the customer he’d been attending. “I never uh, caught your name.”

Yuta can tell the man is ready to take his leave, his hat situated back on his head and the bouquet close to his chest. He begins to march towards the door, his heel clad steps echoing in an unnecessarily loud manner. “Maybe if I come back, you’ll figure that out.” He turns his head to look upon Yuta’s face, and offers the florist a half smile.

The customer, too preoccupied with giving Yuta a half baked reply, unknowingly bumps into Johnny. He does not bother to look Johnny in the eye as he apologizes, but Yuta knows that he isn’t the person to fret over such actions—however, Johnny stands perfectly still, his cheeks ashen as he watches the customer scamper out. The moment of the exchange bristles eptly across Yuta’s mind, and sticks out to him sorely.

“Do you know him?” Johnny asks, after moments of complete silence. The man held a pensive demeanor with Yuta, but that usually did not hinder his talkativeness. He’d make enchanting small talk regardless of his disposition. Today was different, and Yuta wonders if the interaction with the mysterious customer has dampened Johnny’s mood at all. “The man who just left, I mean.”

“That’s the funny part. I don’t, actually,” Yuta laughs, wondering how to explain the situation. While he attempts to, he hands the crimson tulips to Johnny. “He kind of just hung around the store and finally mustered the courage to come in here. Why? You seem a little spooked after bumping into him?” When all Yuta receives is a blank stare in return, Yuta draws back. He shouldn’t have expected Johnny to be so open with him when they've known each other for months and he was still hesitant with him. “I’m sorry, have I crossed the line here, Johnny?”

“If I tell you something will you promise to not think I’m crazy?” Johnny blurts, and the outburst surprises Yuta enough that his eyes widen. “Sorry..”

“No it’s fine,” Yuta’s voice is soft, not wanting to coax Johnny into not telling him whatever he had in mind. “What is it?”

“I’ve seen that man before,” Johnny starts a little shakily, and Yuta nods in encouragement for him to continue. “But only in my dreams.”

“What do you mean?” Yuta is confused, but refrained from showing it on his face in consideration of Johnny’s feelings.

“Well, for months I’ve had this dream of this man dressed in all black who beckons me towards him. He’s holding a pocket watch, and wearing a hat so that I never really see his face.”

“So how do you know that it’s the man you saw earlier if you don’t really see his face?”

That question seems to stump Johnny a bit, as he levels his shoulders. “I.. I don’t know. I just got these chills when I bumped into him, it just all seemed too reminiscent. Forget I mentioned it, alright? It sounds silly now that I’ve said it aloud,” Johnny seems to want to change the subject, and Yuta does not object. The man pockets for something in the pocket of his denim jacket, and Yuta is surprised to see him reach for a large wad of money, cooked tightly together by a black rubber band. Johnny slides it over to him. “This should be enough to cover enough weekly bouquets for a really long time, right? It’s a few hundred, just check for me that it’s enough—”

Yuta fiddles with the rubber band, but does not bother to sort through the amount. “Johnny, this is more than enough, don’t bother worrying,” A question lingers on Yuta’s tongue, and he debates on whether or not to ask it. “Are you.. leaving soon?”

Johnny attempts to offer a smile, but Yuta can tell it was completely half-hearted. “I still don’t know. I just figured it’d be better if you had the money than you not having it.” He shrugs. “Thank you! For everything, Yuta. I mean it.”

The words sound odd to Yuta. “I’ll see you next week, right?”

Johnny does not miss a beat. “Same day, same time!”

* * *

That next week, and every other week for the next month, Johnny misses his daily Wednesday tulip pick-up. The timing of it all leaves a sour impression on Yuta, and he cannot help but wonder if Johnny is doing well—from the bottom of his heart, he hopes so. Yuta always wished he had been able to befriend Johnny, finding solace in his homey smile and pleasant lilt he’d portray on the Wednesdays where the world seemed just a bit brighter to him.

In Johnny’s stead, a new visitor appeared. Yuta does not want to say take his place, because Johnny is Yuta’s most familiar recurring customer. He still has hopes that the man will return but until then, Yuta is entertained by the company of another. The mysterious man in black was no longer a puzzle for Yuta to solve. He swings by often enough for the florist to know his name and age; Kim Doyoung, twenty three years old—as is Yuta. He is charming in a sardonic sort of way, and Yuta finds him absolutely alluring. Doyoung makes a point to only visit on Thursdays after 12 PM but before 4 PM. He is punctual, and Yuta learned to not expect him even if the clock strikes 4:01.

Each week Yuta cultivates a new bouquet for him. Some Thursdays Doyoung will hand all liberty over the choices to Yuta, while some days he’ll request a certain shade of blue or type of flower. With his snarky humor and captivating personality, Doyoung keeps Yuta on his toes, and he likes it. It might be so obvious that those around Yuta pick up on his sweetness towards the boy in black who shows up once a week. Jaemin and Jungwoo often give him an incredibly hard time with the teasing, and even Taeyong prods lightly from time to time—though Yuta will admit that Taeyong is not as involved with Doyoung as he usually is whenever his best friend began to harbor any sort of feelings for another, whether it be platonic or not.

Taeyong insists that it is because Yuta is older now, and that he should not have to do a background check on every individual he is interested in. Yuta doesn’t particularly buy it, but he does not argue.

To break the ice though, Yuta settles on the idea of orchestrating an evening out so that Taeyong and Doyoung could finally meet. It has been a month or two since Doyoung has been visiting the shop steadily, and Yuta is convinced that there is no way the other had absolutely no interest in him. Why else would a man in his twenties frequently buy bouquets of flowers from the same person over and over—and not just any person, from Nakamoto Yuta, who might be the most handsome florist in the vicinity of Seoul! Or at least that is what Yuta thinks, spurred by the elderly ladies who often commented on his endearing smile and heavenly good looks.

So, on the next Thursday Doyoung comes by, Yuta places his plan into motion. He offers another of his cultivated creations—this week was a bouquet composed of cornflower blue bachelor’s button, which signifies of hope in love—and asked him to stay for just a moment longer. Yuta has a steady level of self confidence built up from over the years, so asking Doyoung to go out for drinks that night was not an issue at all. No, the real issue is the unexpected reply he receives on the other’s behalf.

“No, Yuta.. I don’t really think that’s a good idea.” He says it with an amazingly straight face, as if denying him had not affected him one bit. Yuta believes in respecting one’s decision, but he would not lie if he said Doyoung’s words did not sting.

“That’s fine.. Totally fine, forget I even mentioned it!” Yuta nods to convince him that it doesn’t hurt, and a half-hearted chuckle comes out. He pushes a hand through his hair, his eyes focused on anything but Doyoung’s incredibly handsome face. “But to clear my conscience, can I just ask.. was I totally reading this wrong?”

Doyoung must have found the situation hilarious, because he legitimately produces a full chested laugh. “Are you asking if I have no feelings for you? That isn’t it, Yuta,” Despite seconds ago being entertained by Yuta’s question, Doyoung’s attitude seemed to take a turn towards despair. His eyes are filled with a hollowness that makes Yuta frown. “I think you’re handsome and funny, and you make beautiful bouquets. My situation is a little bit complicated right now, it has nothing to do with you. I cannot explain, but it just—it wouldn’t be fair to you, at all. Maybe it’ll make sense at some point, but it won’t now. I’m sorry..”

* * *

Later, as Yuta attempts to lull himself to sleep, he figures that Doyoung is right. Leading him on would not be fair to Yuta, not at all.

* * *

Yuta arrives to work the next morning weary in terms of his own feelings mentally, but entirely well rested physically. A cup with his name sprawled across the front awaits him on the desk, along with a note from both Jungwoo and Jaemin. He’d taken the side entrance in solely to evade the inevitable confrontation from the two about yesterday’s failure, since they had both been front row and present for Yuta’s rejection. However, after seeing the slight effort they’d offered to cheer him up, he feels silly for avoiding them at all.

With a genuine smile on his face he walks out of his office to the front counter where Jungwoo and Jaemin stood close together, babbling incessantly. They can hear him coming and both boys turn to face him even before he officially reaches them.

“Hiya, boss! How’d you sleep?” greets Jaemin, his smile as blinding as the morning sun. “Did you get the coffee I put in your desk? I told Jeno to prepare it—”

Jungwoo gasps from beside Jaemin, instinctively slapping the younger boy on the shoulder. “You didn’t tell me _Jeno_ made the coffee!”

Ah, _Jeno_. Lee Jeno, to be more specific, was the newest infatuation of Jaemin’s heart. Perhaps the relationship could not be classified as new, considering the two had been going out for months now. Jeno was the most recently hired barista at the cafe Jaemin frequented, and despite Jeno professing to hate coffee, he made one hell of an Americano! The skill was enough to capture Jaemin’s heart, but with the passion that Jaemin pours into proclaiming that Jeno is the most handsome boy ever, the fact that he is easy on the eyes must not hurt at all either.

“Of course Jeno would make the coffee! Me going to a different cafe during his shift is the equivalent of infidelity,” Jaemin huffs, as if it was common knowledge. “Plus, he took the morning shift today because he knew I’d be coming by. I wish he was resting, though. He’s been looking quite pale recently, it’s a little worrying.”

“I know Yuta wants to say to send him a get well bouquet, I know he wants to!” laughs Jungwoo, watching as Yuta holds his hands up to not protest. He bites back the smile that threatens to spill from his lips.

“Peonies are associated with healing, a bouquet of that would be lovely, I think!” Yuta receives a flower thrown at his face for his suggestion, and the florist whines at Jaemin to not waste the precious stock. “Anyway, I just wanted to come out here to tell you guys thank you for cheering me up. I love you both, it means a lot. I could not ask for better employees—”

The bell above the entrance jingles, causing all three boys to glance towards the door expectantly. In staggers a pajama clothed man, a look of desperation flashing hotly in his eyes. His disposition looked overwhelmed by sorrow, his face streaked by the remnants of tears. In one hand, he holds an ordinary slip of paper. From where he was standing, he assumes it might have been a letter of some sort. But what the stranger in grasping is his other hand is enough to cause Yuta to stay indefinitely rooted in his spot. In his loose grip is a single crimson tulip, the type the shop bought specifically with Johnny Seo in mind. It does not take Yuta long to put two and two together.

“You!” An accusatory index finger is pointed in Yuta’s direction. “You’re Yuta, the florist, right?” He continues on, assuming he is right that waiting for Yuta to confirm his identity was not necessary. “You sell these, don’t you? Did you send these to me as a joke? O-Or a prank of some sort? If that’s the case, this isn’t funny. I don’t know why you would think it is.”

“A prank? Why would I send them as a prank? No, I was left a sum of money—a tab, if you will—to send crimson tulips to a certain person every week. Are you..” Yuta is uncertain, his tongue hovering over the words. “Are you Ten?”

The man, Ten, bobbles his head vivaciously in response. He swipes his palm in the general direction of his eyes, wiping away whatever tears were making an attempt to slip and roll down his cheeks. “Johnny paid you to do this? That kind hearted asshole, he isn’t even here yet he finds some way to make it seem like he is,” Ten chokes on his tears, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “I fucking hate him.” It was loud enough for the three boys to hear, but not a statement to address.

“Where is Johnny? He kept telling me he would be going away for some time, but was never direct with me about when or where? He’s missed his Wednesday flower pickups, I was hoping he was okay..?”

He stares at Yuta blankly, in utter disbelief at the question. Ten deadpans, his eyes watery with tears to the point that it left such an impression of sadness on Yuta himself. “Yuta,” Ten’s chest rises and falls at a dangerously fast pace, and Yuta can hear his ragged breathing. “Johnny died a month ago.”

* * *

“Yuta, I’m so sorry. I know how fond you were of Johnny.”

“Yong, I just cannot believe it. His boyfriend, Ten, told me that it’s why he’s been upset for the past few months. Not everyone gets their death notice so in advance, but Johnny had, and it completely ruined him. Ten said Johnny was the most optimistic person he’d ever known, but as the date grew closer he said it got harder for Johnny to stay happy,” Yuta fiddles with the straw in his drink. He follows the twirling of the colors in the liquor, watching the colors swirl and engage in a passionate dance. It is somewhat calming, and that was exactly what Yuta needed. “Ten said they went to sleep like any normal night, and Johnny just didn’t wake up in the morning.”

“You should’ve seen him, Yong. It was heartbreaking, Jaemin and I had to excuse ourselves from the room when Yuta went to comfort him. The guy was sprawled on the floor with his tulip, bawling,” Jungwoo recounts the day’s devastation with a deepened frown. “He’s been coming to pick up flowers for months, it’s weird to think of him as gone.. It does explain the sadness that shone behind his eyes, though. That’s what getting your notice does to you, I feel bad for him that he got it so early.”

“Right?” Taeyong took a swig of his drink. “That is really rare, actually. Most people only get it weeks before, so months before.. Almost unheard of.”

Jungwoo rolls his eyes. “What are you, an expert on getting the notice? Are you a grim reaper, Lee Taeyong? Are you _hiding something_ from us—”

Taeyong legitimately chokes on his drink, and both Jungwoo and Yuta eye him suspiciously. “No, of course not! Why would you even say that, Woo? I had to write a thesis on it in college, I did a bunch of research for it!”

Yuta remembers what Taeyong is referring to, as it wasn’t too long ago. Taeyong had finished his thesis paper with a surprising amount of ease, having the assignment due with weeks to spare. He said the topic had an insane amount of writings regarding the death notice, which made Taeyong’s task at hand easier than he’d assumed.

“Thinking back on it all, do you know what was the weirdest part, actually?” Yuta does not wait for replies from Jungwoo and Taeyong, as he continues with only a second's pause. “Johnny said that in his dreams he saw a man with a pocket watch who looked just like Doyoung. Isn’t that weird?”

“In that case, maybe Doyoung’s the grim reaper, not Taeyong.” Jungwoo jokes, reaching to pour himself another glass of soju. Taeyong slaps his hand away, moving the bottle just out of Jungwoo’s grasp. The youngest of the three whines. “Taeyong’s too much of a buzzkill on earth to be a grim reaper.”

“You’ll thank me later,” Taeyong narrows his eyes at a defiant appearing Jungwoo. “I’m sparing you from a pounding headache.”

“Whatever,” Jungwoo raises his hand in a flicking motion, using his other hand to reach for the peanuts that had been poured into a bowl. As he pops them into his mouth, he slaps the table as a thought came into his mind. Everyone’s drinks shake, tormented seas within the glass boundaries. “Speaking of Doyoung! He came by when you went out with Ten, he said he wanted to talk to you and that’d be back tomorrow!”

_Oh?_

* * *

Jungwoo, Yuta, and Taeyong decide not to drink heavily, not wanting a hangover to interfere with work the next day. Yuta and Taeyong ensure to send Jungwoo off early, while the two stagger to their own shared apartment. The walk was not lengthy, as Yuta selected a bar that would allow easy accessibility back to their humble abode. Neither Taeyong nor Yuta had drank an extreme amount, yet all their thoughts were plundered by the overwhelming need of sleep. Yuta specifically was unusually drained, and felt his body clamor for a repose.

“I’m going to head to bed.” was the first thing that came from Yuta’s mouth when they pushed past the door.

Taeyong, as if knowing Yuta’s thoughts prior, offers him an understanding nod. “Good night,” he says, underlying hints of distress in his voice. Usually Yuta would address it but he was too tired to even consider engaging in a conversation. “Rest well..”

Yuta barely has any recollection of falling asleep. One usually doesn’t, but Yuta cannot even remember tucking his debilitated body into bed. Regardless, he drifts into a peaceful slumber. At least it was initially tranquil, but at some point throughout the night, Yuta’s limbs begin to toss back and forth. Uncomforting groans that he is not even aware he is eliciting fly from his lips—groans that would eventually lead in to screams.

Suddenly Taeyong is stationed at his side, his face the image of worry as his hands viciously shake Yuta from his state of terror. He bolts upright into Taeyong’s awaiting send. Yuta winces as he notices that his exposed skin was glistening with a fine sheen of sweat, yet chills slither down his spine. “Are you okay, did you have a nightmare? What was going on?”

Yuta was not tormented by nightmares frequently. He could barely recall the last time he’s experienced one, but he could confirm that it was nothing like this. Yuta was not shaking due to the terrorizing actions in his dream: he was not being chased by a murderer, nor was he free falling from a skyscraper. The fear was newly installed due to what he knew such dreams meant—the vague, hazy ones that usually involved clocks, and familiar figures enrobed in all black.

“The death notice,” Yuta shudders, tears threatening to spill and roll past his cheeks as he peers into his best friend’s dismayed eyes. “I’m going to die soon, Taeyong.”

After the realization, Yuta cries himself to sleep. It was not his finest moment, stifling tears in his best friend’s shoulders as Taeyong coddled and cradled him. The mere thought alone of death was enervating to him, but the thought of his own death was enough to cause a mental collapse. Taeyong does not bother to wake him up when his morning alarm goes off in favor of allowing him to sleep for a bit longer than usual. All his life Yuta preferred rising earlier rather than later, for several reasons—but recently, he savored the view of Seoul’s spectacular sunrise that he only got to experience due to his adjusted schedule.

He misses the sunrise for the first time in months, only pushing the bed sheets off his body half past twelve. He rolls slackly out of bed, slipping on mismatched slippers as he shuffled down the hallway. “Yong?” He is uncertain if his best friend was present at all, or if Taeyong reported to his job. “You there?”

“I’m here,” Yuta encounters his best friend leaning against the kitchen counter, deliberating something over a chilled cup of coffee. Taeyong appears to be completely wrecked, if not more so that Yuta himself. Seeing Taeyong so solemn delivers a hurtful pang to Yuta’s heart, and he feels completely hollowed out at the sight. “I didn’t go to work because I figured you probably needed me. Missing a day is not as important as me being here with you right now. I already called Jungwoo and told him you’d be out today—”

“—Taeyong. I’m going to work.”

“Huh? What—why? Yuta, I think it’s better if you just rest, it might not be a good idea to go and work right now. You might be a bit unstable.”

Yuta has a different disposition towards life than Taeyong does, and he does not really expect his best friend to understand his complex thought process. Though, he tries to explain it in the best way his abilities could do. “Yongie, if I’m going to die soon, I don’t want my last days to be spent moping in my room under a blanket. I want to be doing things I love with the people I love. I’d like to serve my customers for the last time, or drink the morning coffees Jaemin picks up for me.” He sighs. “Being a florist was—is—my life. I want to be around them, they’ll make me feel more alive.”

Taeyong is not buying it, seeming entirely hesitant at Yuta’s suggestion to leave the apartment in search of life.

“I’ll be with Jungwoo and Jaemin, if anything happens they’ll call you. Don’t be worried, I’m going to be fine, Yong. I’m going to get ready, can you tell Jungwoo I’ll be there a little later?”

Yuta vanishes back to the comfort of his room before Taeyong begins to try and coax him into remaining home. The attempts would be incredibly futile, as Yuta has already made up his mind. He would go to work and enjoy the last days he had to the fullest. He never considered himself an extreme optimist, but he hopes he is remembered as someone who brought light even when the situation seemed dismal.

 _Weird_.

Yuta’s never considered the type of mark he’d wanted to leave on the world. He stands before himself, facing his reflection in the mirror as he buttons up a pale blue shirt. The streaks of sunlight that leak through the blinds spill onto his face. He savors the feeling, letting the sun’s light envelop him.

Again, Yuta thinks it’s funny how he never considered how beautiful life genuinely was to him—or like he wondered before, what impression he’d leave—until he was quite literally sauntering towards the oblivion that is death. Life is put into such a magnified perspective only when it is about to be lost.

“You’re going to be fine.” Yuta whispers to himself, smoothing his shirt out. He repeats the phrase to himself until they no longer have an effective meaning, but are rather just words strung together. He reruns the words over his lips as he and Taeyong walk to the car, and all throughout the quiet car ride to the florist’s shop.

Taeyong must too be going into work, as he was dressed in moderately dark clothing—Yuta can even spot his briefcase and black hat in the backseat of the car. Taking even a glance at the hat makes him wish he had not. It is as if the hat gives him a bad omen, however Yuta does not think now is the appropriate moment to bring up his issue with Taeyong’s choice of accessories. Then again, Yuta beckons the thought, when else would he have the time?

So, he inquires. “Taeyong, why do you have to wear that hat to work? It’s very gaudy, and while you manage to pull it off, remind me again why you need to have it on you.”

“We’ve talked about this before,” Taeyong chuckles awkwardly. Yuta notices how his lithe fingers clutch the leather of the steering wheel until his skin reverts to a ghastly white. “A lot of the older men find it quite fashionable to wear hats like this in my office. I have one to match with all my outfits—”

“—The black outfits? That you wear every single day?”

“Yuta,” Taeyong sighs in exasperation, turning onto the street of Yuta’s shop. “This is a discussion for another time, alright? I promise we’ll discuss it soon.”

He was not frustrated before, but Taeyong’s response makes Yuta want to scream. He is not sure what Taeyong wanted to say nor how much time Yuta had left, but he is sure there was not enough to postpone conversations. But, he does not want to say anything he could regret, when this could very well be the last car ride he takes with Taeyong.

The death notice is given to those whose names are inscribed on the grim reaper's list—that much is common knowledge. As for the rest, Yuta is not exactly sure how it works. From what he does know, though, is that he could die at any point after receiving the notice.

“Text me when you get to work, alright? We’ll talk later.” Yuta resigns from the conversation, exiting the car. He taps the hood, letting Taeyong know it is okay to go. With a slow wave from the driver the car floats down the street, and Yuta enters the shop.

The mood inside is not very light for a sunny Wednesday afternoon. Jaemin is nowhere to be sight, however Jungwoo swirls a single purple hyacinth between his fingers. Hyacinth, what Yuta knows is a flower of sorrow—fitting, he assumes. When Jungwoo spots him, he crowds Yuta into his tight grip without a second’s hesitation.

“I guess Taeyong told you?”

“He called me earlier to let me know. I’m sorry if you wanted to keep it secret, but Jaemin was here with me when I got the call and I just—obviously it was something I could not keep to myself, I almost fainted. I had to tell Jaemin.”

“Where is he, anyway?”

“In your office. He was devastated, I wish I hadn’t been the one to tell him. Jeno’s gotten really sick, and you’ve known him for years, so this kind of just broke him. Go to him, we can talk later—it’s more important that you see Jaemin now.”

Yuta nods, clapping Jungwoo on the back in thanks as he headed towards the back of the store where his office was located. The door was slightly ajar and through the crack, Yuta can see Jaemin hunched over a chair. He sighs, this was something he has never wanted nor thought he’d have to do. Alas, here he was, forced to explain to Na Jaemin, who looked upon Yuta as an older brother, that he would cease to exist soon.

_“Jaem.”_

At the sound of his name, Jaemin’s attention quickly darts to the door, his eyes lingering over Yuta’s figure sadly. It was almost as if he could not bare to look away, like if he did Yuta would completely disintegrate in that moment. Yuta takes slow, cautious steps towards Jaemin, who patiently awaited him. When he was close enough, Jaemin pulled Yuta into an embrace as tight as Jungwoo and Taeyong’s.

“You can’t go, Yuta.” Jaemin shudders in a whisper. “Please don’t go, you’re like my brother. What am I going to do without you? W-Who is going to give me advice and take me for coffee? You’re not just my boss, you’re one of t-the people I’ve looked up to for almost h-half my life,” Due to the heavy emotion, Jaemin’s voice cracks and Yuta can feel the tears welling up. “Yuta, no.” You can't go, you can’t, Yuta, no. Jeno’s sick too and I really needed you here and.. I don’t know if I can do this all without you.”

“Jaem, look at me,” Yuta breaks from the hug to look Jaemin in the eyes. He holds Jaemin’s hands in his own, carefully and with the lightest grip he could muster. “I don’t want to do this, I don’t want to go, but I have to. I would never leave you, Jungwoo, or Yong for the world, you know that. But this—it’s life, and I need you to be strong.” Jaemin is shaking his head, tiny no’s sliding hastily from his lips. Yuta’s wiping Jaemin’s crystalline tears from the apples of his cheeks, not bothering to touch the droplets that wet his own face. “You're the most talented and bright boy I have ever known, Na Jaemin. Without me to encourage you, I know you’re going to soar high regardless. You’re like my little brother, I’ve always treated you like one—thank you for looking up to me, for letting me be your mentor. I’ll cherish it.”

Jaemin sobs harder, and all Yuta can do is hold the boy as his body shakes from the devastation. It is dejavú, as hours ago Yuta was in Jaemin’s position, being held by another while he uncontrollably cried.

There is nothing Yuta can do nor say that would remedy the situation.

* * *

“Yuta?”

At the sound of his name, Yuta glances up from the memo he had been scribbling. He’d sent Jungwoo and Jaemin home just after two, both of the boys obviously too upset as well to legitimately work. He’d consoled them by telling them he’d see them tomorrow. Yuta planned on closing early anyway, so the loss of help for now was not damaging.

While Yuta was the one who received the notice, he himself was not devastatingly upset right now. Currently he was more pensive, reflecting on everything that’s happened in the last twenty three years of his life. With that in mind, the silence was doing him well.

Until _now_.

“Doyoung,” Yuta is surprised to see him, to say the least. It was between the window of time he usually stopped by, but it was also a Friday. “What are you doing here?”

“I told your friend Jungwoo that I needed to talk to you,” That is true, Jungwoo had mentioned something along the lines of Doyoung wanting to talk to him. “I know this is going to sound crazy, but will you come somewhere with me? It is important, I promise.”

Whether or not it was the slight disregard setting in or the intrigue, Yuta agrees to accompany Doyoung to an unknown location. To make Yuta feel more at ease, the two walk in tandem as Doyoung leads the way. He seems so proper in his seemingly expensive all black outfits, and Yuta wonders what exactly he does for a living. Similarly to Taeyong, Doyoung labels his job as office work but never bothered to delve too much deeper over the many Thursdays he appeared at Yuta’s shop.

In Doyoung’s right hand, he holds a simple black hat.

“It’s right here.” Doyoung informs, motioning for Yuta to follow him into the apartment building. The lobby is chic, the waxed ebony floors glimmering under the unnatural light from the suspending chandelier. There is a man at the front desk, who acknowledges both Yuta and Doyoung as they make their way towards the elevator that will take them to—well, Yuta is not sure where, but he assumes to their destination.

“Doyoung, are you taking me to your apartment?” Yuta inquires, watching Doyoung’s fingers timidly press the button for the 6th floor. “If that’s the case, I would have liked some notice beforehand..”

“Trust me, Yuta. You’ve gotten notice already.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Doyoung does not offer Yuta a response, exiting the elevator as the doors open without a second’s hesitation. Not wanting to become lost in this incredibly grand apartment complex, Yuta follows Doyoung without a second choice. By the time he catches up with the man, Doyoung’s slender figure is leaning against the door frame, swinging his keys around his index finger as he awaits Yuta. The door is unlatched, and he is wordlessly beckoned in. Admittedly, Yuta is not sure what to expect regarding why Doyoung has asked him, which causes a sort of hesitant limp in his steps.

Doyoung’s apartment is as Yuta would have imagined. Minimalistic, with off ivory white walls that essentially boxed them in. Not much furniture aside from a sofa, a coffee table, and a sleek cherry wood table set that centers the room. The sole item that decorates the walls is a coat rack, where Yuta is not surprised to see six different all black coats hang collectively. Two of the outwears seem entirely too familiar to him: the first Yuta was sure he had seen before, he just cannot pinpoint where nor on who: the second was a long shot, but the wool reminded him of the wrap Taeyong had worn earlier today.

However, what Yuta does notice, is that the only colors that paint the rooms are the discarded petals of various flowers that litter the premise—lilac monkhoods, yellow zinnias, spring ivy, white withered roses. “You keep all the flowers I’ve given you, Doyoung? Even after they’ve withered?”

“I couldn’t keep any of them alive,” Doyoung buffs in a disappointed sigh, his eyes filled with morose after traveling over the dozens of decayed bouquets. “No matter how badly I wanted to keep them alive, I couldn’t help them. Each flower died, no matter how much I watered them. I suppose I just don’t have the hand for this.” The words sound double sided, as do many of Doyoung’s sayings. “Sit down, Yuta, please.”

Yuta takes a seat across from the host, the two completely face to face now. It was somewhat intimate, the solitude of the apartment coupled by the direct eye contact that Doyoung refuses to allow to waver. “I am going to tell you something I should have told you a very long time ago. Yuta, you are going to hate me, and that’s a natural reaction. I just want you to know that I never meant to hurt you.” Doyoung reaches into his coat pocket, retrieving a single alabaster envelope. On its face reads Yuta’s name, written elegantly in Korean and Japanese characters dually. Doyoung seems hesitant initially, but gathers enough courage to confident slide the item to Yuta.

Yuta takes the envelope into his hands, his trembling fingers peeling the seal of the envelope back to remove the slip of paper from inside to read:

_**CASE #0162059: Yuta Nakamoto, age 23** _

_**Born:** October 26th, 1995 in Kadoma, Kansai District, Osaka, Japan_  
_**Death:** August 2nd/9th??, 2019 in Cheongdam-dong, Gangnam-gu, Seoul, South Korea_

“I don’t.. I don’t understand.”

“Yuta, I am not just Kim Doyoung who has been visiting your floral shop for a few weeks now. I am Kim Doyoung, the grim reaper who has been assigned since your birth to notify you of your death date.”

This was a lot to take in, and Yuta instinctively shifts his chair away from Doyoung. His legs feel weak, and despite how he wishes to move, he is planted in place. Doyoung must get this reaction often, as he does not bat an eyelash as Yuta’s body jerks in an opposite direction—though, Yuta can see the pity in his eyes.

“I was supposed to have informed you weeks ago. Do you remember the first time that you saw me outside the shop as you were closing? Then, that was when I was supposed to have given you your optional in person notice then. I was going to try again the second time, when you gave me the free bouquet.”

“Why didn’t you? What stopped you?”

Doyoung’s lips curve into a smile, but not one of happiness—one twinged with disappointment. “Your smile,” It sounded ridiculous, however he sounded incredibly serious. “It’s infectious, and watching you interact with your customers is priceless. You’re so kind to everyone, and as I continued to visit I found it harder to tell you who I was and why I was there. I didn’t mean to befriend you, either—the times I’ve allowed myself to get close to the people I’ve escorted to death, I’ve only mourned for years. If things were different, Yuta—” Doyoung looks away. “Well, that doesn’t matter, now does it? You’re predestined to die, and I’m sentenced to being a grim reaper for life. There is nothing more tragic than this.”

“I see,” Yuta says quietly, his eyes roaming over the words on the card once more. This time, a particular detail catches your attention. “Why does my death not have one specific date? It’s only the date and the year, but two days.”

“Remember when you gave me the bouquet and I told you that I felt like I owed you something?” Yuta nods, and Doyoung continues. “I’m not supposed to, but I pulled some strings. You can choose whether you’d like the 2nd or the 9th. It’s not much, but it’s all I could do. You could say goodbye to your family, remedy whatever you need to. I’d like to give you that window of time.”

“Thank you, Doyoung. Really.” Yuta is not sure how else to express the tiniest bit of gratitude being expressed to him. There is so much to say, however Yuta did not have the energy to describe his thankfulness in length. He hopes Doyoung can see it, regardless.

“You’re welcome.. I have one more thing to ask you, though. Not related to your death notice, but to one of someone you may know.” Doyoung sounds averse towards mentioning it.

Yuta does not know anyone else who’d received a death notice recently.. “Who?”

“A boy named Lee Jeno? After you, I was notified to tell him. I feel like I recall your employee Jaemin mentioning him often, I wasn’t sure if you’re aware that he has been very sick?”

“Jaemin told me Jeno caught something a month or two ago, and it hasn’t really healed.”

“That’s not the case,” disagrees Doyoung. “He has a terminal illness, I’m not disclosed to say what, but it’s been afflicting him since he was younger. However, his days are numbered now. I only wanted to tell you because you’re so close to Jaemin and—”

“—..He's losing me and his boyfriend all in the same time frame.”

“Exactly.”

“Can I do anything, Doyoung? Rather, can you do anything to delay it like you did with mine?” Yuta is desperate, leaning across the table with a pleading look in his eyes. “Anything, Doyoung. Please. Jaemin does not deserve this.”

“I have a quota, Yuta,” Doyoung frowns. “There is not much I can do. I can bump him down a few spots, but in exchange for that I would need to escort someone else before Jeno’s assigned date. That’d move him further down the line. A life for a life, essentially.”

“Would escorting me count?”

“Well—yes, but then you would not get the liberty to choose when you can go. If you choose to give your life in turn to save Jeno’s, you’d have to come with me as soon as possible.”

There is no hesitance on Yuta's behalf, the words leave his mouth before his mind settles on the decision. “I’ll do it.”

Doyoung must not have been expecting this answer, because he seems perplexed by Yuta's disposition. “Are you.. are you sure? Yuta, this is a permanent decision. Once I bring you to the waiting room, there’s no turning back. You cannot say goodbye to your friends nor to your family.”

“To help Jaemin? I’d do anything. He has his whole life ahead of him, and he is really happy with Jeno right now. It may not last forever, but if I could help him keep a little bit of light in this dark time, then that’s all that matters to me. For my friends, who are essentially my family, I’d do anything.” He's gotten to know Jeno over the time Jaemin’s been engaged in a relationship with him, and Yuta found that the boy was sweet. A bit shy initially, but with a heart of gold and a smile comparable to sunshine, he was Jaemin’s perfect half. They complement each other well, and Yuta has not ever seen Jaemin so happy before.

“Then,” Doyoung pats the invisible dust off the front of his jacket. “If you’re sure enough to make such a sacrifice, let’s go.”

* * *

Doyoung is pouring him tea. Yuta watches in awe as the aurulent liquid fills the crystalline teacup, the small wisps of heat radiating and disintegrating before his eyes. The tea smells heavenly, and soon enough a cup of the fragrant liquid is handed to Yuta.

“If you drink this tea, you’ll forget the memories of this past life. It’ll help you settle into the afterlife, so that you are not tormented by the _what ifs_ of your human life.”

The tea swirls serenely in the confinement of the cup. While Yuta enjoyed the auric elements and lovely smell of the tea, he did not enjoy the idea of taking a sip to forget all that was his life. His life flashes before his eyes: he recalls outclassing his middle school friends on the soccer field, and the first day of school where Taeyong and Taeil had befriended an insanely nervous transfer student Yuta. He remembers the pride he’d felt swelling in his heart as he opened his florist shop, feeling a sort of halcyon at the thought of being surrounded by the very items that has brought him joy since he was a child. There were the crazy nights followed by the mornings where he and Taeyong would nurse themselves back to health, or the birthday parties he’d throw for Taeil every year when his old friend would come in the area.

He did not want to forget it.

“Doyoung, do I have to—”

“—Yuta!” It’s unmistakably the call of Taeyong. He turns his head, surprised to see an out of breath Taeyong stumble into the tea room. His chest is heaving, and he’s clutching his knees for dear life as he struggles to catch his breath. “Don’t drink the tea just yet, I have something to tell you.”

“Taeyong, how did you find me?”

“I’m a grim reaper, Yuta.” The words are a shock to Yuta, and he too must recollect himself at the thought. While Yuta was not expecting Doyoung to say this earlier, Taeyong admitting that he was an angel of death was something Yuta had never thought he’d hear him ever say.

This was Lee Taeyong, his best friend who enjoyed studying Japanese and eating sweets; Taeyong, whose cheeks blushed a cherry rouge after getting complimented, never quite getting accommodated with the frequent praise; Taeyong, who was the first one to befriend him when he’d moved to this country years ago; Taeyong, who Yuta thought he knew like the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry, I was going to tell you, I just didn’t think you’d come here so quick. Doyoung told me he was going to offer you a choice, so I thought we’d have some time—”

“—You two know each other?”

Doyoung hums in reply. “Our cubicles are right next to each other. I take care of those with last names K-R, while Taeyong does T-Z.”

Taeyong clamors over to Yuta, taking a seat on the cushion beside him. His face was flushed, but he managed to offer Yuta one of the smiles he’d known all too well. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you. I’m not really allowed to tell anyone, not even my best friend. I hope you know that all this time I wanted to tell you, it just would have jeopardized us both.”

“That is incredibly frustrating, but I get it. Don’t apologize, you were only doing your job. I respect it, Yongie.”

“I didn’t ever deserve you. You were the best friend I could ever asked for—no, you were all that, and more. You understood me when nobody else would, and always offered me kindness that was too much for me. I wish I could have done more for you, Nayu. I don’t know what I’m going to do without you,” Taeyong’s candor is not something Yuta is used to. He appreciates it, his eyes glistening as he listens intently. “Losing You is losing a piece of me. I’ve lived for years, but I’ll never be the same without you. I won’t, Jungwoo won’t, Jaemin won’t, Jeno won’t, Taeil won’t—none of us are going to be the same. Most importantly, I love you. Make sure to come back to me, Nayu, I need my best friend.”

“I love you too, Yongie.” Yuta’s tears shimmy onto the table, and he is sure a droplet or two bounces off the rim of the teacup. He inhales a shaky breath. “Before I drink this.. I left a memo pad on the counter, send the specific flowers to each person on the list. It’s a different arrangement for each person. Just make sure they receive it, alright? As a parting gift from me. Tell Jaemin, Jungwoo, Taeil, Jeno, my family—everyone. Tell them I cared for them, and they made my life as beautiful as it was.”

A sobbing Taeyong and a distressed Doyoung watch Yuta’s next moves carefully. Though he was trembling, Yuta lifts the cup and tilts the rim towards his lips. The sweetness is addicting, and the tea slides smoothly down his throat.

 _To life_ , Yuta thinks, and to those who brought him the happiness that made life a little more worth living.

He hopes he did them well.

* * *

The wind slides briskly across his cheeks, and he holds the lapels of his sleek black jacket close to him to protect his exposed skin from the chill. The hat upon his hat topples a bit, and he grumbles as he readjusts it for the thousandth time. “I told them my size, yet they couldn’t get me the right hat.” he grumbles, moving to take shelter in the building he’d been looking for all this time.

Inside awaits a familiar pair of heads, elaborate hats sitting upon their heads. His lips spread into a smile, feeling a rush of excitement as he takes off towards them.

“Where do you guys get perfectly sized hats? I look silly like this! And on my first day too—ridiculous, really.”

“I think you look handsome,” comments Taeyong, offering him a flirtatious smile as he pats the seat across from him. “You’ve always looked good though, Nayu, this doesn’t surprise me.”

“Says Mr. Perfect Visuals himself!”

“If it is worth anything, I think you look quite handsome too, Yuta. Being resting for a few years did you well,” Doyoung agrees, speaking a little bashfully as he peers into Yuta’s eyes. That was supposed to be half a joke, right? Yuta chuckles, and Doyoung glances away as if the moment of confidence he had disintegrated after looking into Yuta’s eyes. He coughs. “Are you ready to get to work? You need to get training first before you go out into the field—are you really sure you’d rather do this than be reincarnated?”

Yuta nods his head vigorously, raising his arm in determination. “This isn’t an opportunity given to everyone, right? If it was offered to me for being a good person throughout my life, I want to take it. If I can help bring others just a little bit of peace before they go, then I’ll be content.”

Doyoung nor Taeyong cannot argue with Yuta's resolve. “Well then, rookie,” Doyoung boldly takes ahold of Yuta's hand, tugging him up. Yuta is taken aback by Doyoung's forwardness, but rather than it upsetting him, it lit him with a fire anew. He can hear Taeyong scoff in the background, but Yuta does not pay much mind. ”Let’s go teach you the ways of a reaper.”


End file.
